


My child , my friend, my lover

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cracked knee, h/c, strange thoughts, a gentle Jim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My child , my friend, my lover

## My child , my friend, my lover

by DannyD

Author's webpage: <http://www.dexters-world.de>

Disclaimers: The Sentinel characters belong to Pet Fly and Paramount. They'll never belong to me as much as I dream about it ;-). 

Summary: A cracked knee, h/c, kisses, lots of talking. 

I know, folks, I know, this kind of story has been written at least a hundred times already. Blair's hurting; Jim takes care of him. I hope you like my version of it. 

For Leila ~ it's not exactly what you asked for but hopefully it brings a smile to your face. Love ya. 

* * *

My child , my friend, my lover  
by DannyD 

The scent of hot spaghetti sauce penetrated the loft, little bubbles indicating it would only take another couple of minutes until the spicy topping was ready to be served. Wiping his hands on the flowered apron Jim Ellison threw a glance at his watch. Blair would arrive home soon; actually, he should have been there already and Jim frowned slightly. They had talked about the romantic candle-lit dinner this morning and Jim couldn't think of any reason why Blair would be late. 

Unless... 

"Stop it, Ellison, you're paranoid," the Sentinel scolded himself as he tried the sauce. The oregano was faint but still detectable. "He's fine," Jim muttered and switched off the stove. 

At the same moment he heard the familiar heartbeat of his lover outside the front door. Rattling with his keys, the young man pushed the door open and... 

"Hi, Chief, I was about to start without....", Jim's gentle scolding died in the air as he watched his lover limping into the apartment. 

"What's wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?" Jim rushed to Blair's side who threw his keys into the small basket beside the door. The left leg of his jeans was torn right above the knee and the unmistakable scent of blood filled Jim's nose. 

Blair made a dismissive gesture and shrugged off Jim's hand. "Stop it, Jim. It's nothing. Really. My students and I went rollerblading through the park ...and..." He took a deep breath. "...and stupid me fell and cracked my knee. No biggie." 

As Jim carefully touched his leg, Blair jerked away, stumbling a little as he backed into the living room. 

"I'm fine, Jim," he emphasized. 

"You're bleeding, Chief," Jim said, puzzlement crossing his face at Blair's strange behaviour. "Let me take a look at it, okay?" He stepped forward but Blair raised his hands. 

"I really appreciate your concern, Jim, but it's no big deal. Just a cracked knee. Nothing important. I'm not a child anymore." The words spilled out of Blair's mouth as the anthropologist made his way towards the bathroom, favouring his leg. 

"Blair...what's...?" Jim tried again but the bathroom door closed with a loud thud, leaving him alone with this worries. Surely, his injury wasn't life-threatening but anyway, Jim hated the thought his lover was hurting and he wanted to take care of him. So far Blair had always enjoyed Jim's tender loving care but something must have happened today that made him shrink away from Jim's help. 

Returning to the kitchen island Jim stirred the spaghetti sauce, but he kept his hearing focused on the young man in the bathroom. 

"Oh, shit!"came the exclamation, followed by a wince. "Terrific, Sandburg," Blair mumbled to himself. "Just ter---iiii-fic. Ow!" 

The rustling of clothes and Blair's outcry of pain alerted Jim.Turning off the oven, he rushed to the bathroom and, without knocking, opened the door. Blair was sitting on the closed toilet, his jeans now down around his ankles. Little traces of blood gently trickled down his leg. 

"Chief?" Jim crouched down beside the toilet and took in the bloody knee. "You okay?" He grabbed a washcloth and moistened it under the faucet. 

"Yeahhhhh," Blair murmured, scrutinizing Jim's actions. "The pants had stuck to the wound and it hurt a bit when I took them off," he explained, trying to bend his kneewith a grimace on his face. 

"You ripped it off?" Disbelief in his voice, Jim returned with the washcloth and carefully cleaned off the blood running down Blair's leg. "Why didn't you tell me?" He stood up and opened a cabinet to retrieve the first aid kit. 

"It's nothing, Jim," Blair replied, taking the washcloth out of Jim's hand as another little river of blood trailed down. "I don't need your help everytime you think I pass out from the sight of blood." 

Surprised and half startled by the cold reply, Jim returned to this position on the floor, disinfectant, gauze and a band aid in his hand. "Sorry," he said, as he started to work on the wound. 

Blair placed a hand on the Sentinel's shoulder. "Hey, man, I'm sorry. Sorry, I snapped. You just want to help. It's just....," the anthropologist trailed off. 

"It's just...?" Jim repeated. "Easy now..." He gently dabbed at the knee, causing Blair to inhale deeply. "I know it hurts, buddy." 

Blair shook his head. "It's okay," he said through gritted teeth, his hands grabbing the toilet set. 

Jim looked up briefly. Blair's eyes were closed, his mouth a tight line as the disinfectant burned into his sensitive skin. He didn't make a sound, not a wince or moan, worrying Jim more than an outcry of pain. 

Applying the gauze and Band-Aid on the wound, Jim patted Blair's thigh lightly. "Here you go, junior." He smiled. "As good as new." 

"Thanks." Blair stood up from the toilet, pulled up his torn jeans and tried the strength of his leg. 

Jim watched him silently. Blair walked towards the door, and without another word, the anthropologist left the bathroom. The Sentinel followed him into the living-room, frowning as the young man tried to hide his limping . 

"I've made spaghetti," Jim announced and returned to the kitchen. "Why don't you set the table, huh?" he asked and Blair nodded mutely. However, noticing the grimace on his face, as Blair moved to the cupboards to retrieve plates and cups, Jim gently touched his shoulder. 

"Okay, Chief, sit down, I'll get it," he advised, smiling but when he steered his lover to the table, Blair resisted. 

"I'm not invalid, Jim," Blair protested and shook off Jim's hand. "I'm surely capable of setting the table, man." The look he gave the older man was icy. "There are people out there who suffer more than I do from just a cracked knee." 

"What's the matter with you, Chief?" Jim asked, as Blair opened the cupboard. "I hate to see you hurting." 

"Jim." Blair turned around, plates and cups in his hand, and slowly made his way to the dining-room table. "I am FINE, damnit!" The plates rattled as they were roughly on the table. "Just stop it, okay? Save it for something a bit more important. I might be smaller, younger and not as tough as you are but I'm no wimp." 

The words left Blair's mouth, but the expression on his face spoke an entirely different language. The blue eyes sparkled with something that could be anger, frustration... or moisture. 

Jim started to say something but decided not to. With the mood Blair was in, everything he'd say would be met with resentment and denial. Maybe later. 

* * *

"Later" Blair's odd mood swing hadn't changed. To the contrary. Refusing to talk to Jim about was bothering him, Blair had even struggled as Jim had put an arm around him to cuddle with him on the couch. "Later" Blair had started typing crucial data into his laptop, ignoring his lover for the rest of the evening. "Later", Jim had went to bed alone while Blair stayed downstairs pretending to prepare a lecture. 

When the other side of the bed remained cold and empty for another hour, Jim hauled himself out of the bed, snatching his robe and headed downstairs. Blair was still sitting the couch, a book and papers resting in his lap. He didn't acknowledge Jim's presence as the Sentinel went to the bathroom, intending to give the young man time to adjust. 

Returning to the livingroom Jim watched Blair trying to get up from the couch. His injured knee had become stiff during the long period of time he had rested. Blair winced as he pushed himself off the couch. The pained expression on his face spoke volumes and, as the young anthropologist struggled to walk, Jim reached out to help him. 

"Hey, Chief, why don't you come up to bed?" the detective asked gently. 

Blair twisted out of Jim's tender grip. "Stop it, Jim," he demanded. 

It sounded harsh, so unlike Blair, that it made Jim flinch away from the aggression underlying the words. He knew Blair's was hurting, probably more emotionally than physically. However, knowing his lover too well to press the subject, Jim just nodded. 

"Sure. I'm sorry. I just wanted to help," he explained softly. Receiving no reply from Blair, Jim turned around and climbed the stairs to their bedroom. 

Halfway up the stairs, Blair's low voice stopped him. "Good night, Jim." 

Turning around on the narrow space, Jim frowned. "Are you saying you won't come up tonight?" He declined one or two steps. "Blair, please, tell me what's going on. What happened today that...that made you... flinch away from me?" Jim took a few more steps, reaching the living room again. "Did I do something?" 

Blair's answer was mute shake of his head. He limped to the living room table and sorted his books and papers. "It's not you, Jim," he said quietly. He laughed sadly. "Oh man, it could _never_ be you." 

The love and trust shining through this simple statement, warmed Jim's heart and he smiled. Still... 

Ellison crossed the distance between them and tenderly tugged at Blair's arm. "Come on, sweetheart, let's go upstairs. Everything'll be brighter tomorrow." 

"I can't." Trying to withdraw his arm again, Blair's voice was interrupted by moan as he stepped back. The weight on his knees made itself known and pain surged through his leg. 

"Why not?" Jim didn't try to pull Blair closer again. Puzzlement crossed his face. 

"I... just can't," Blair replied. "I tried to climb the stairs but ...it.... I couldn't...," he broke, looking away. 

"It's your knee? You can't come up because your knee's hurting?" Jim figured. "Jeez, Chief, why didn't you say so?" He stepped closer until he was standing in front of his partner. Jim touched his chin and drew Blair's undivided attention to him. "Since when has something like that become a problem?" 

"It's ... what... what do you want to do, man? Carry me up the stairs?" Blair shook his hand. "Like a little kid?" 

Jim shrugged. "I'd love to carry you, baby," he admitted. "It allows for great kissing, you might remember." He winked but Blair didn't react to the seductive teasing. 

"I don't want your help. It's appreciated, but, please, don't...." Blair made another step back, winding himself away from Jim's gentle but persistent stare. 

"What the HELL happened today, Sandburg!" Jim suddenly shouted, making Blair flinch. "And what's so _damn_ bad about me wanting to help you?" 

"I wouldn't know how to return it," Blair whispered, turning his head again to not have to meet Jim's startled, disbelieving glance. 

For a moment, Jim didn't know what to reply. He had expected almost everything, from "Jim, I committed a federal crime today" to "Jim, I don't want your help because I'm seeing somebody else." Everything. Every heart-wrenching reason his mind could've come with was racing through his head in the tiny span of time he'd asked the question. The answer he received was so.... absurd, unreal. 

"What did you have in mind, buddy? Writing me a check at the end of the month? '2 hours taking care of BS, $ 34.58 including tax?'," Jim mocked in return, not quite trusting his ears at the ridicule he'd heard in those words. 

Blair bowed his head. "No, man. What you do is invaluable. Money can't pay." The same tiny voice. 

Jim rolled his eyes. "Good! Because I don't want to get or gain anything from taking care of the person I love." 

"I don't know how to make it up. Everything." Blair murmured. 

Okay, this was getting very weird, very strange and even more ridiculous. Carefully, Jim stirred Blair towards the couch but again Blair refused. 

"Blair - I don't know where this crazy thought comes from, but..." the Sentinel began, but the grad student interrupted him. 

"I'm...," Blair faltered, looking for the verbal tool to give words to his feelings. Not succeeding, he just sighed deeply. "I'm sorry," he said at last. 

"For what, for crying out loud?" Jim bellowed. "You didn't do anything wrong!" 

"You do so much for me, man," Blair turned around and slowly made his way to the closed balcony doors. Focussing on the velvet night outside, he began to talk - slowly, carefully, as if he was weighing every syllable before using it. "I know it's stupid, man, but I can't shake the feeling. Today, in the park when I cracked my knee, I was so damn mad at myself. Little Blairy was clumsy and fell. Oh man, I was on rollerblades and managed to hurt myself!" He snorted. 

"If it helps, I don't think I would be a skating queen on those things either," Jim reassured. As the sentence left his mouth though, he knew his humour wasn't soothing his friend's aching heart. 

Blair laughed bitterly. His next words indicated that he hadn't heard Jim's input. "It hurt and bled, but somehow I was kinda looking forward to coming home and letting you take care of me." 

Jim smiled, but Blair continued, "However, suddenly, I remembered Mrs. Stewart." 

As Blair didn't offer an explanation, Jim asked, "Who's Mrs. Stewart?" 

"What?" Blair started like he had been deep in thought. "Oh, uhm, I once spent a few summer months at her farm in Wyoming. I worked there to get some extra money for a special edition of..." he trailed off, smiling a bit. "...for an anthropological book. Mrs. Stewart was great, a terrific old lady, very open-minded, totally up-to-date with politics, culture and just everything. She couldn't quite understand though why I was choosing anthropology because according to her it was a "dead subject" with no future. Nobody would be interested in the old stuff in the 21st century." 

Sighing, Blair kept staring out of the windows. "She tried to teach me two things." 

"Knitting and cooking?" Jim joked and stood behind Blair without initiating contact. 

To his surprise, Blair laughed. "No, man, can you imagine me knitting?" The young police observer suddenly moved backwards and let his weight rest against the detective's broad chest. Jim's hand came around his waist and joined his in front of him. 

"One thing was that the words "I'm sorry" don't mean anything because the harm is already done and saying that wouldn't reverse it. She would never say I'm sorry to anyone." Sensing Jim's protest, Blair hurried to reassure, "That's crap, I know." 

"The second thing... she told me that you always have to give something to gain something. I know it's a little thing, but one day I did the dishes and she came home from town asking me why I had donethem. Then she asked me what I wanted in return, if I wanted more money, more free time or so." A few long curls slipped through the opening of Jim's robe and tickled his bare chest, as Blair shook his head in disbelief. 

"I didn't understand, and Mrs. Stewart explained to me that no one would "just do something" for another person. You know, that there's always a catch behind every nice thing you do? 'Nothing in this world happens without a reason' stuff. When you want something, earn it, or pay for it." 

Sagging even more into the human pillow behind him, Blair gently stroked Jim's hands. "Today, I suddenly remembered her words and then at the same time I... I was wondering if I would ever be able to return the efforts you put into taking care of me, protecting me, and everything. I know I can't because you _do_ so much, man! I didn't want to add a bruised knee to the list." 

Jim tightened his hold on Blair. What he had just had to listen to was so wrong, beyond any reason to him, and he carefully chose his next words to show it. "Chief, Mrs. Stewart might have her own reasons to think in those lines, but that doesn't make it the right reasons. It's stupid, if you ask me. And it's even more stupid to hear it coming out of your mouth. I know you're smarter than that. Friendship or love can't be measured by how much you do for the other person. You can't buy those feelings." 

With one swift motion, Jim turned Blair around in his arms. "I take care _of_ you because I care _about_ you." 

Seeing the raw emotions on Blair's face, Jim gently placed a short kiss on the younger man's forehead. "You're the friend I take 200 miles to the airport to catch an important flight." He kissed the expressive blue eyes. "You're the child I take by the hand when you're scared." He bent forward but stopped before his lips could touch Blair's. "You're the lover I'd give my life for," Jim whispered. 

They kissed. 

"How's your knee?" Jim asked huskily as they parted. 

Blair shrugged and buried his head into the soft fabric of Jim's robe. "I'm fine." 

Jim smiled, "Of course, you are." He ruffled the silky mop of curls. Without breaking the embrace, he steered the young man back to the couch. "Sit down and take off your sweatpants," he ordered gently and disappeared into the kitchen. 

"Are you trying to _subtly_ seduce me, Jim?" Blair grinned but followed the request. 

Opening the refrigerator door, the older man chuckled. He retrieved an ice pack. "Then I would've said take off all your pants, buddy," Jim laughed and turned around. "Jesus!" he exclaimed. 

Blair was lying on the couch, shirt and socks still in place whereas his sweatpants and underwear was gone. The bandaged knee bore a strong contrast to the well-muscled, slightly tanned legs. Stretching the injured leg carefully, Blair rolled onto his side and curled his right leg under himself. His cock comfortably rested on his thigh, his hand casually trailing down to the flaccid organ. 

Jim swallowed and grinned at the beautiful sight in front of him. He could feel his own cock starting the dance. 

"Something wrong, big guy?" Blair teased and his fingers brushed over the soft skin of his penis. 

Jim knelt down beside the couch. Clearing his throat, he replied, "Nope, nothing's wrong..." His eyes sparkled as they caught a glimpse of Blair's starting arousal. However, he reached for the bandaged knee. "Let me take a look, okay?" 

Blair just nodded, sighing slightly as his cock stirred under the loving actions of his own hands. He knew he could drive Jim over the edge by just letting him watch him. 

With the tenderness of a lover and the skills of a Sentinel, Jim gently removed the bandage. The first layer was stuck to the wound again and as Jim carefully tugged at the gauze, Blair winced. 

"Oh, you're such a mood killer, Jim," Blair complained with a grimace, his erection crumpling. 

"I'm sorry, Chief," Jim winced himself as he examined the bruise-covered knee. It already shone in deep black-bluish colours and had swelled up considerably. "Where does it hurt?" he asked. 

Blair raised his eyebrows at the question but smiled as he fathomed Jim's intentions. "Everywhere," he replied. 

"Here?" Jim kissed a spot beneath the wound. "Or here?" he kissed another area. His sensitive lips tasted the bruise flesh. "Maybe here?" His mouth roamed over Blair's leg, alternating between sucking and nibbling. Jim never came near the hurting area. Reaching the thighs, Jim's tongue suddenly darted out and leaped over Blair's cock. 

"I love you, Jim," Blair vowed quietly. His voice was serious despite the fact his arousal woke to new life. The blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears. 

Jim ceased his motions and returned the intense glance. Then he reached up and brushed away the ever-unruly stray of curls obscuring his view of his partner. A gesture of love, warmth and friendship. Blair leaned into the touch, enjoying the loving caress. He turned his head to the left and kissed Jim's hand. 

"I love you, too, Blair." He cradled the curly face in his large hand, his fingers tenderly tracing the the soft skin of Blair's cheeks. A light stubble was already detectable and Jim smiled at the subtle scratching under his sensitive fingertips. "What would you say if we try the big bed upstairs? There's way more room for both of us." Jim winked. 

Mutely, Blair nodded and struggled to get up. "Oh man, I'm feeling so old," he moaned miserably. He looked down at himself and grimaced. "I look like an idiot." He took Jim's outstretched hand and pulled himself up. 

Jim didn't smile or uttered any amused sound. "You're beautiful just the way you are right now," he said in earnest. 

Blair rolled his eyes. "You're hopelessly romantic, Jim. I mean look at me! I'm standing in our living-room with a shirt and socks on and nothing in between." He gestured wildly with his hands and limped towards the stairs. 

"Chief?" Jim's voice stopped him. "Let me help you?" the Sentinel offered and Blair smiled gratefully. 

"Thanks, man." As Jim stood in front of him, the young man put his arms around Jim's neck and soon he was scooped up in a swift but tender motion. 

Climbing the stairs with the precious weight of his lover in his arms, Jim smiled. 

The End. 


End file.
